


Of Flowers and Feelings

by 0Melting_Angels0



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Adventure & Romance, Awkward Romance, Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Eventual Romance, Flower Crowns, Flowers, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Insecure Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier | Dandelion Has Feelings, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, M/M, Protective Jaskier | Dandelion, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:15:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24832198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/0Melting_Angels0/pseuds/0Melting_Angels0
Summary: “Because you are beautiful, Geralt. And, tragically, far too stubborn to see it.” Jaskier declared. (Jaskier takes advantage of a break in their travels, and the scenery around them, to braid flowers into a Witcher's hair. Which is the catalyst for an interesting shift in their relationship)
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 28
Kudos: 269





	Of Flowers and Feelings

**Author's Note:**

> Vaguely set some time before the big breakup. Bare with me, I haven't written Geraskier before. 
> 
> This is just something short and sweet based on a little tumblr post I made. Hopefully you all enjoy it. This includes a tiny headcanon of mine, and that is Geralt having longer hair. He's also a bit more taller than Jaskier. 
> 
> I have a thing, OK?! 
> 
> Also I'm only partway through the first book, and haven't played the first 2 Witcher games. I have, however, played 500+ hours of Witcher 3 and watched the Netflix series. I don’t know whether Witchers having a lower body temperature is canon or fanon, and for the moment I do not care. I needed a reason to get Geralt to remove his armour. Don’t judge.
> 
> And I wasn’t sure how to deal with Yennefer, so she’s just hinted at.
> 
> One last thing: whilst Geralt does have beautiful eyes in the show, I have a far bigger weakness for the in-game literal cat eyes.
> 
> I’ve only watched the show once because I’ve been reading a shit-tonne of fanfics, so if they are OOC feel free to take out a contract on me.

The past few weeks had been far too stressful for Jaskier's liking. Which sounded odd even to himself. He'd anticipated more than the usual stresses of life, when he set out on the path with Geralt of Rivia. But what they'd seen and experiences in recent weeks went far beyond what even Jaskier could picture. They'd had contract after contract, which was admittedly quite preferable due to the coin steadily flowing, and the stream of new ballads flowing in his mind. But whilst none of those jobs had resulted in a serious injury for either of them, several monstrous blows in the resulting fights had come far too close for comfort. 

And Jaskier could see that exhaustion was even becoming evident on Geralts face. For that man to show anything that even remotely hinted towards weakness was unheard of, and that told the bard more than the Witcher's few words could say. In all the years they'd travelled together, Jaskier couldn't rightly remember seeing Geralt so...tired. If tired was even an adequate word for it. For exhaustion seemed to have seeped deep into the Witcher's bones, evident by the way he leaned on Roach far more than he normally would- having dismounted to give the poor mare some time to rest. The steadily rising heat was doing little to help their predicament.

It would be several miles before they reached the nearest signs of civilisation, and as he had begun to doubt whether or not they'd make it, Jaskier finally found the energy to speak up. If he were to stay silent, he had no doubt one of them would pass out. Sooner, rather than later. And on the path, that was something they absolutely could not allow to happen. Well, it wasn't something he'd recommend for regular travelers either, but that was besides the point. 

Yes, Geralt would object. But Jaskier had become quite adept at persuading the Witcher to change his point of view. Not that his companion would ever admit to such a thing, of course. It would damage his "big-scary-emotionless-Witcher" reputation. And no doubt create a whole new wave of rumours. Jaskier didn't mind those, of course. He'd become quite accustomed to them over the years. But he knew it bothered Geralt. 

Though destiny always seemed to do its damndest to do the opposite, the Witcher preferred to avoid attracting attention when and where he could. Far too many shared the view that Witchers were no better than the monsters they hunted. Which made both their contracts and travels even more difficult to undertake. 

"Perhaps we should stop for a moment, Geralt." Jaskier turned towards his white-haired companion, stepping out of his spiralling thoughts. 

"It's only a few more miles, Jaskier." Geralt spoke bluntly, irritation making its way into his voice. 

"Whilst that is certainly the truth, I'm beginning to doubt if we'll make it that far."

"Are you-" 

"I'm fine, my friend. You, however, look about as bad as I did the morning after that party in Novigrad-"

"When you damn near overdosed on moonshine?" 

"The very same."

"Jaskier, I doubt I look  _ that  _ terrible."

"Are you trying to say  _ I  _ looked terrible?" 

"No-" 

"I'm just having some fun with you, Geralt. I know I looked quite awful after that debacle."

"And you're saying-" 

"You look that bad at this very moment? Yes, my white haired friend. I am."

"We're not stopping."

"Not even if I give you my best doe-eyes?" 

"Jaskier-" 

"Because I will do that, if I must."

"You know I can't-" 

"Resist that? I'm well aware."

"You wouldn't."

"Was that a challenge, my friend?" 

"No." Geralt exhaled slowly. "You don't intend to drop this anytime soon, I suppose."

"You should know me well enough by now, Geralt."

Folding his arms, Jaskier turned so he could stand eye to eye with the Witcher. Or eye to chest, as it was, given that the man had quite some height on him. Not that there was anything particularly wrong with his view, of course. Jaskier had quite the vantage point to see how leather strained against toned muscle, which in turn brought back images of the Witcher without a stitch of clothing on-

"You'll find my eyes are up here, Jaskier." Geralt spoke, immediately drawing the bards attention. 

For a moment, Jaskier would admit he was rendered speechless. This wasn't helped by his stupid brain "helpfully" reminding him that the Witcher would most definitely be able to detect the change in the bards heart rate. Though that all changed rather abruptly when Jaskier saw the expression on Geralts face. It was clearly written irritation, not what he'd expected given the words that had just come out of the man's mouth. 

**Which meant one of two things:**

  1. _Geralt was putting on a poker face in an attempt to throw Jaskier off._
  2. _Or he truly didn't see the alternative meaning behind his words._



“I’m aware...of that.” Jaskier cleared his throat. “I don’t intend to forget the subject matter, Geralt.”

“Stubborn bard.” Geralt grumbled.

“Says the most stubborn person I know.”

“ _ Jaskier. _ ”

“ _ Geralt. _ ”

The two of them stood as they were for several moments- both with their arms crossed, expressions mirrored in one another’s faces. Silence fell between the two, with only the ambiance of the northern countryside to accompany it. A number of moments passed like that, and just when it seemed as if neither of them were going to concede, the Witcher was, surprisingly...the one to break that silence.

“Fine.” Geralt spoke between gritted teeth, clearly displeased that he’d been the one to give way. “Five minutes, Jaskier.”

Relieved, more so for the exhausted Witcher than himself, Jaskier happily wandered into the meadow- allowing himself to admire the scenery now that they’d get a few moments of blessed peace. The array of colours all around them, coupled with the surprisingly picturesque scenery all around them, made for quite the image. Seeing such beauty was a welcome change, after the hideous monsters they’d faced in the past weeks. 

Sighing happily, Jaskier took a seat in a clearer patch of grass near the stream- cautiously setting down his lute before taking off his shoes without a moment’s hesitation. Dangling his feet into the cool, clear water sent a wave of relief through his body- the bard hadn’t realized quite how warm it had gotten until the stream danced around his ankles. After allowing himself a moment to adjust to the cold temperature of the water, he carefully unbuttoned his doublet (had to preserve the immaculate embroidery, after all) and allowed the slight breeze to seep through his thin undershirt and cool the skin beneath. 

Hearing movement behind him, Jaskier turned- and saw Geralt tying Roach’s reins to a nearby tree- leaving the mare enough room for a short wander and in close proximity to the stream, so the tired-looking beast could have a drink. Smiling, the bard watched as the Witcher carefully looked over his mount- checking for signs of heatstroke and divesting her of all of the baggage tied to her saddle, even coaxing her towards the stream for a drink. Jaskier rarely saw such a level of care from Geralt, and so it was a welcome sight. The man didn’t often display such tenderness.

“I thought you said five minutes, Geralt.” Jaskier called out, as the Witcher removed his cloak. “It’ll take twice that to prepare your dear Roach-”

“She needs to rest.” Geralt interrupted.

“Or you’re too stubborn to admit you’re quite tired as well, Geralt.”

“I’m not-”

“Don’t even dare try to tell me that you’re fine. Surely even you can-”

“Jaskier-”

“Just sit down, would you? Bloody hell, it’s not like I’m asking you to another ball.”

“Fine.”

Taking another glance back to make sure Roach was safe and secure (and well taken care of), Geralt finally wandered over to Jaskier, surprisingly seeming to admire the scenery around them. It appeared as if the kaleidoscope of colours flourishing in the emerald-green grass was enough to impress even a stubborn old Witcher. The thought brought another smile to Jaskier’s face. Which only stretched further when Geralt took a seat in the grass beside him. 

It wasn’t until the bard sent a pointed glance his way, that the white-haired man fully relaxed, daring to stretch out his legs and turn his gaze upwards. After taking a moment to admire such a sight, in particular the way his snow-white hair drifted listlessly in the breeze, Jaskier spoke up.

“Surely you don’t intend to keep that armour on, Geralt.” Jaskier turned towards his companion.

“It’s not-” Geralt started, looking surprised by the sudden break in the silence.

“If I was almost dying from heatstroke in a velvet doublet, you must be positively roasting alive in all that leather.”

“I can’t just-”

“Look around, my dear Witcher. We are quite alone out here.”

“How could  _ you  _ know for certain?”

“Because you haven’t reached for your blades in quite some time, haven’t glanced behind us as if we’re being pursued...and that medallion of yours hasn’t so much as whispered.”

“Suppose I can’t argue with that.”

“I think I need a moment. Are you _actually_ about to take my advice?”

“Don’t let it go to your head, Jaskier.”

“Too late.”

When he heard Geralt genuinely  _ chuckle,  _ Jaskier nearly fell backwards in shock. He hadn’t heard such a sound from his companion in quite some time, though it was understandable- the past weeks had held too much stress for any sort of relief, after all. So it was...a welcome shock. Feeling his own smile grow wider, Jaskier listened to the sound. Whilst he’d told the Witcher numerous times that his laugh was actually quite pleasant, he knew the man had never taken to believing him. A fact which served to dampen the bard’s mood. Though only so slightly. It was hard to feel down when Geralt, of all people, was laughing. Well, chuckling. But that was closer than Jaskier normally got, so he wasn’t exactly going to argue. Nor was he going to interrupt.

Jaskier simply sat in silence, which was more difficult than he’d care to admit- and watched as Geralt took off the well-worn holster which held his twin blades- slyly leaning slightly closer as the man moved on to his armour. Whilst Jaskier knew the armour was a tangle of interwoven threads underneath the layer armour, he still found it oddly enticing, as the Witcher removed the copious amounts of leather in slow but practiced movements. He knew the lack of urgency was both down to exhaustion and the knowledge they weren’t in any danger, but that did little to dampen Jaskier’s enthusiasm. 

When Geralt’s upper body was finally free of the stitched leather, said layers arranged carefully beside him, Jaskier found his smile returning tenfold. The thin white undershirt left little to the imagination- becoming a far too exciting garment when the Witcher rolled his sleeves up to his elbows, exposing even more of his weathered skin. Skin which Jaskier knew Geralt wasn’t entirely comfortable in. whilst he did his best to appear as if the commonfolk’s cruelty didn’t harm him, the bard knew they’d done irreparable damage to the man’s image of himself over the decades. Which was rather tragic- Jaskier couldn’t quite picture anyone more attractive than Geralt. 

There was his skin- pale and decorated with dozens of scars. Marks which many, ashamedly, found unattractive. Which was another mystery to the bard. Those marks told wordless tales of battles fought and lost, of escapades beyond most people’s limited imaginations. Then there was the waves of white hair, strands of silver and grey creating strands which shone in the sunlight. And the eyes. Rings of yellow and glowing amber, around a black slit. Another feature most people feared. Jaskier had often told himself they simply hadn’t gotten close enough to Geralt to see their true beauty. Or the way the cat-eye slit widened when the man had far too much to drink, or when he was lost in the thrall of an exciting battle. 

Jaskier found himself abruptly pulled from his pleasant thoughts, when a surprisingly cold hand was gently placed on his forehead. 

_ It was then that the bard realised he’d been staring straight at his companion the **entire time** \- if the mixture of amusement and concern mixed on Geralt’s face was anything to go by. _

“Are you alright, Jaskier?” Geralt questioned.

“I am now.” Jaskier spoke, before he could stop himself.

“Thought you had heatstroke.”

“Wouldn’t you be able to tell simply from looking at me, Geralt?”

“Hm.”

“So, truly, there was no need for this.” 

“...”

Before the Witcher could remove his hand, Jaskier closed his eyes for a moment, gathering his strength- before opening them again. Cautiously, he raised his left hand to Geralt’s right- gently intertwining their fingers, before lowering them from his forehead to rest in the grass between them. Something as simple as hand-holding seemed almost scandalous. Whilst he’d had his eye on Geralt since the moment they met in that dusty tavern, Jaskier had yet to find the courage to act on it. If holding one another’s hands even truly counted as acting on it. 

Finding himself holding his breath, Jaskier summoned the willpower to turn his head towards Geralt. At first, he was quite affronted- for the Witcher was staring dead ahead, eyes fixated upon the horizon. That was, until, he saw the shade of  _ bright red  _ on the man’s face. It was such a stark contrast to his near ivory skin that the bard found all his breath being stolen from him in one fell swoop. Which was only exacerbated at the realisation he’d never seen such a shade on Geralt’s face before. Sure, his skin picked up a shade or two when he’d had a drink, but never something such as this. Jaskier couldn’t rightly recall if the Witcher had even held such colour for  _ Yennefer.  _ And she was quite easily the most beautiful woman the bard had ever seen, though he loathed to admit such a fact.

Just as he was committing such a sight to memory, Jaskier took note of the tension in Geralt’s body. His shoulders were stiff, and his entire body was rigid. Almost frozen, like a (meticulously sculpted) statue.

“I’m sorry, Geralt.” Jaskier broke the silence, ready to let the moment end, lest he damage their friendship irreparable.

“Don’t apologize.” Geralt responded quickly, still focused on the rows of flowers beyond the stream. 

“Well. That’s...not the reaction I was expecting.”

“Disappointed, bard?”

“No. Quite the opposite, in fact.”

“Good.”

Stunned once more, Jaskier followed the Witcher’s gaze- and turned his eyes to the horizon. The sun was cresting at its highest in the sky, beaming down golden rays to the vibrant colours amidst the meadow grass. The moment was as perfect as a moment could be, such was the world they lived in. Which was why Jaskier let the silence linger for far longer than he normally would, before he found his courage once again. If only Geralt knew how so few words has such an effect on the bard. Of course, he could vocalise this, but Jaskier had the feeling the tender hand-hold was already quite a step forward for his companion. This realisation gave way to a new line of thought, of the idea that the Witcher had only ever attempted such tenderness with women. That he knew of, of course. Geralt had so many secrets that Jaskier had yet to uncover. 

The bard quickly found the courage to speak- he didn’t want there to be too many more secrets between them. None would be preferable, but Novigrad wasn’t built in a day- and neither was a relationship. If Jaskier wasn’t thinking too far forward. Which he most likely was. Which he  _ definitely  _ was.

“You look tense, Geralt.” Jaskier kept his voice low.

“I’m fine.” Geralt still refused to look the bard in the eye- scarlet red still not having left his face.

“Perhaps there is something I can do about that.” Jaskier dared to edge closer.

“And what would that be?” Geralt’s head turned towards the bard, ever so slightly. 

“I’ve noticed you quite enjoy having someone toy with those fabulous white locks of yours.”

“Jaskier-”

“Don’t try and deny it, Geralt. I’ve washed blood and guts out of that hair more times than I care to count.”

“...”

“That wasn’t so hard, was it.”

“Bard-” “Reducing me to a title? My good Witcher, I am  _ offended _ !”

When Geralt opened his mouth, Jaskier half expected the stubborn fool to try and deny his words yet again- only to be surprised when the Witcher  _ laughed.  _ Not  _ chuckled.  _ Not  _ the hint of a smile.  _ Genuine fucking  _ laughter.  _

“Well. You  _ do  _ know how to laugh.” Jaskier teased.

“You’ve heard me laugh before, Jaskier.” Geralt retorted.

“Oh, my name is back! And to circle back, you’ve never laughed like  _ that  _ before.”

“...”

“Silence speaks louder than words, my dear Witcher.”

“Something you haven’t learned.”

“Was that a  _ joke _ ?” 

“...”

“Fine, fine. I’ll stop teasing. Though it is such fun-”

“ **Jaskier**.”

“ _ Alright. _ ”

Smiling again, Jaskier reluctantly let go of Geralt’s hand- before shuffling across the grass to sit behind him. Whilst the Witcher followed every movement, he didn’t move himself- so the bard dared get a little closer. Crossing his legs, Jaskier reached forward, and gently began combing his fingers through the tangled white locks that made up his companion’s hair. At first, Geralt only tensed up further, but that resistance soon melted away, and he relaxed completely where he sat. Hearing the man’s breathing even out, Jaskier felt himself smile wider. Again, he found himself mystified by how much hatred people held for the Witcher and his kind. They were just as human as the rest, try as much as both parties did to deny it. Perhaps more so. Not many would risk their lives for those who hated them.

“I have a comb in my pack, Jaskier.” Geralt pointed out, startling the bard.

“I know.” Jaskier spoke softly. “But this feels better, surely.”

“...I suppose.”

“I’ll take what I can get.”

And the two of them sat there in blessed silence, the gentle wind rustling the leaves and swirling flower petals in the air- mingling with the warm sunshine and trickling waters of the stream. Jaskier couldn’t rightfully remember the last time he’d felt so...content. What he was doing was quite chaste and ordinary, but it was far more exciting than any of his usual escapades. As usual, it was all because of who he was sharing these moments with.

Smiling, when he peered round and saw Geralt’s eyes shut, Jaskier took some time to admire the peaceful...no.. _.blissful... _ expression on his companion’s face, before returning his focus to the strands of white hair in his gentle grasp.

With a dexterity gained from years of playing the lute, Jaskier separated the swath of hair into three separate strands- taking great care to ensure that not a single one was out of place.

“Jaskier?” Geralt questioned, when he started to realise what the bard was doing.

“Hush, Geralt. You’re ruining the moment.” Jaskier gently poked the man in the back. 

“...alright.”

Carefully, Jaskier began braiding the three sections together. Even a few days ago, he couldn’t have imagined Geralt letting him get close enough to do this. Yes, he’d washed an interesting array of gore from the Witcher’s hair over the years, but this was something altogether different. It was...gentle. Tender. With a compassion Jaskier only wished Geralt would let himself be shown more often. He deserved so much more than what he got. The bard resolved to be a part of that. 

Once he was satisfied with his braiding work, Jaskier found himself at a standstill. He had no ribbons on him. Indeed, there was nothing he could use to prevent the hair from falling into delicate waves once more. At least, without getting up and shattering the moment. Glancing around, taking in the detail of the picturesque scene around them, the bard found himself focusing on the rainbow of flowers swirling around them- and an idea quickly came to him. Mentally patting himself on the back, Jaskier picked out a marigold - with the longest stem he could find. Being mindful of how fragile such flowers could be, he carefully tied the steam around the end of the braid- adjusting it until the sunset coloured petals were perfectly settled. 

After taking a moment to admire his work of art, Jaskier looked back round at the crowds of flowers in the meadow- and decided that one just simply wasn’t enough. And so he began to gather a variety of flowers, from the selection that was within his reach. Colours in all manner of colours and shades. Colours he’d noticed that Geralt tended to shy away from. 

Careful not to disturb the delicate braid work, Jaskier tucked flower after flower into the snow-white strands, until he was satisfied with the rainbow that now sat amongst the Witcher’s locks. 

“Is there a reason I now smell like a noblewoman’s perfume, Jaskier?” Geralt spoke up, surprising the bard.

“There is, actually.” Jaskier retorted.

“And what would that be?”

“You look quite fetching with all these wonderful colours in your hair.”

When silence quickly fell between them, Jaskier found himself biting his lip. Whilst he was not ashamed of his words, by any count, his mind was helpfully making him aware of the fact that said words were more than just  _ words.  _ They weren’t simply a compliment either. Not the way he said it, at least. Yes, he had just decided now was the perfect moment to flirt with his companion. Who could well get up within the next few seconds and storm off, shaking the flowers from his hair. Jaskier had no idea how Geralt would respond to such flirting from a man. Especially from someone he himself had called a fond friend.

“I find that hard to believe.” Geralt finally broke the silence, shaking Jaskier from his thoughts.

Well, that was certainly depressing. But the Witcher hadn’t gotten up to storm off. Which meant that the bard could dare to venture further onto the path they now found themselves on. Now certain the total destruction of their friendship wasn’t an outright possibility, Jaskier found the courage to respond.

“Must you be so self-deprecating, Geralt? Surely you aren’t completely blind to how attractive you are?” he questioned.

“It’s not something I normally hear.” Geralt explained.

“Then I’ll have to change that.”

“You sound determined.”

“I am.”

“Or stubborn.”

Shaking his head fondly, Jaskier finally finished arranging the flowers in Geralt’s hair. The array of colours stood out starkly, but not in an unpleasant way. In fact, it was the polar opposite of unpleasant- and the bard soon found his heart picking up a few paces. He couldn’t quite have imagined just how wonderful the Witcher would look with the finished result. Geralt was already the perfect canvas, but the variety of flowers and buds in his hair elevated his appearance to such a degree that Jaskier was stunned into silence. This, he decided, was as close to perfect as one could look.

No. It wasn’t close to perfect.

It  _ was  _ perfect.

_ Geralt  _ was.

“Care to admire my masterpiece?” Jaskier questioned.

Almost reluctantly, Geralt sat up straight- taking far longer than he normally would to do so. As the Witcher cautiously leant forward, to look upon his reflection in the shimmering stream, Jaskier shuffled closer- until he was able to sit at his companion’s side once more. Sitting in such close proximity gave him a full view of his companion. And what a view it was. Geralt looked positively  _ radiant _ , a smile coming through on that stubbornly stoic face of his, the bright rainbow of flowers intertwined in his hair bringing new layers of colour to his pale skin- the sunset of oranges and yellows bringing out the true beauty of his shining eyes. If it were even possible for them to be more stunning than they already were.

“And, Geralt? I don’t suppose you’ve stopped being stubborn and realised what I already know.” Jaskier leaned closer.

“Which is…” Geralt tilted his head slightly, turning to focus on the bard, looking intrigued.

“That you aren’t what others sometimes say you are?”

“A hideous-”

“Geralt!”

“I didn’t realise that upset you.”

“It doesn’t  _ upset  _ me, Geralt. Well, upset on _your_ behalf, maybe. But no. It makes me furious, to hear such things said about you.”

“...why, Jaskier?”

“Why? WHY?”

Throwing all caution to the wind, part of him already regretting the inevitable aftermath, Jaskier took Geralt’s face into his hands, forcing the Witcher to look him in the eyes. Committing the feel of his companions' skin against his to memory, amongst the other blessed times he’d had such a privilege, the bard let a smile drift onto his face.

“Because you are beautiful, Geralt. And, tragically, far too stubborn to see it.” Jaskier declared.

When the scarlet red returned to the Witcher’s face, only brightened by the dozens of flowers, the bard found his smile stretching again. It was so uncharacteristic of the Witcher. But he certainly wasn’t complaining. In fact, unless it was a figment of his imagination, the man almost seemed to be leaning in  _ closer _ . As opposed to as far away from Jaskier as possible, which was what he had prepared himself for.

“You weren’t lying.” Geralt’s mouth twitched upwards in a smile.

“And how would you know, oh mighty Witcher?” Jaskier teased. 

“Your heartbeat.”

“You had to listen to my heartbeat to know that?”

“I was only-”

“Joking? Do my ears deceive me?”

“Jaskier-”

  
“Because if they aren’t, then this moment would be almost perfect.”

  
“Almost perfect?”

Though he loathed to do so, Jaskier let a hand fall from Geralt’s face, before plucking a vibrant dandelion from the wavering flowers around them- smiling as he reached up to tuck the delicate petals behind one of the Witcher’s ears.

“There.” Jaskier returned his hand to Geralt’s face. “Now it’s-”

“Not quite.” Geralt corrected him.

“What could possibly-”

Jaskier was cut off, when his companion leaned forward, cutting off the small distance between them to tenderly press their lips together. 

Though it, at first, caught the bard by surprise (and inward curses that he hadn’t made the first move), that shock was soon gone. And what started as a simple kiss quickly devolved into something more. Jaskier let his hands wander upwards, to tangle amidst the shining strands of hair and swathes of bright flowers- pulling Geralt closer towards him, as close as he possibly could. Holding the man as tightly as he could, for fear of the kiss ending far too soon, the bard found himself surprised once more- as the Witcher wrapped his arms around his waist.

The feeling of toned muscle tightening around his middle left Jaskier breathless- but it didn’t take his enthusiasm with it. If anything, the motion only served to deepen his desire, years of unspoken feelings coming tumbling out in what he hoped was a pure display of his longing towards Geralt. Of words left unspoken. Of the times Geralt had leant away and Jaskier had cursed himself for not pulling him back.

“There.” Geralt finally broke the kiss, both of them now desperate for breath. “Now it’s perfect.”

“I could stand to hear you speak like this more often, Geralt.” Jaskier smiled, leaning forward to touch their foreheads together.

“I can only promise to try.”

“That is all I will ever ask.”

Before long, their lips were touching again, growing into such a heated passion that Jaskier found himself being pulled into the Witcher’s lap, something he’d only ever seen in his wildest dreams. Something he truly never believed he’d have the honour of experiencing.

“I thought we were only stopping for five minutes.” Jaskier teased, before claiming Geralt’s lips with his again.

“Forget I ever said that, Jaskier.” Geralt spoke irritably in a break between kisses, drawing the bard closer.

“I can do that.”

**Author's Note:**

> And there you have it. My first (and likely NOT my last) Geraskier fic. Supposed to be short and sweet, ended up being a total of 14 pages. Probably kinda rough and not all great, and likely OOC, but I had fun writing it. I can only hope you had as much fun reading it.


End file.
